


8 July

by mmmuse



Series: Six Months:  Journey to Love [2]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 11:31:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5046886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shift from master and servant to man and wife present challenges for Ross and Demelza Poldark during their first six months of marriage. Inspired by scenes from Poldark 2015, episode 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	8 July

**Author's Note:**

> This piece follows my previous works and may reference a bit or a bob from them (from time to time) but I think this series could be a standalone. That said, if you'd like to see what has come before, click [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse) for my works. If there IS a piece to read before this, read [One Night.](http://archiveofourown.org/series/321026)
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, Sherry, once again for her speedy turn around on this one. There's one more coming your way today, a drabble for part three, then I'll be busy working on a contest piece before the end of the month. I hope to have other parts of this one ready to go to beta when I finish.

Early July found the Cornish countryside sweltering under unseasonably warm weather. Demelza had noticed how heavily the branches of the cherry trees had hung, so laden with fruit, and knew they would not last long. The next morning, she rose early in order to harvest some of the plump, red fruit before the sun’s rays became too intense. She slipped away from her husband’s embrace with a touch of sadness, for she knew he greatly enjoyed their morning intimacies, but believed he’d relish the surprise of a cherry pie as a consolation prize. Over her years serving him as his kitchen maid and cook, she’d learned that cherries were a particular favourite of his.

When she returned from her harvest, she’d set the basket down on the kitchen table and removed the linen-wrapped bundle from on top of the ruby red fruit: flowers she’d found along her way to the orchard. They would look especially pretty in the parlour.

She’d finished arranging the flowers and was setting them down on the parlour table when Ross entered the room, freshly bathed and dressed for a day at the mine. “Good morning, Demelza,” Ross said, eyes flickering over her face. He leaned close to her side, his breath warm in her ear. “I missed you this morning.”

“And I you, Ross,” she whispered. He brushed a kiss behind her ear before nipping at the lobe. She shivered. “I will have a surprise for you later that I think you will like.”

He leaned back to look into her eyes, arching a brow. “I shall look forward to it.” A smile creased the left side of his cheek and nearly made her sigh aloud.

A few hours later, Demelza was sitting in the parlour working on her latest project: needlepoint. She was working on a sampler to practice her stitching when Prudy entered the room. She came to an abrupt stop when she saw Demelza. She pursed her lips and curtseyed.

“Yes, Prudy?” Demelza said cheerfully.

“Letter for Mister Ross from Trenwith… mistress,” Prudy muttered.

The maid’s lack of respect was not going to get the better of her today. Demelza tried Ross’s trick of counting to ten. “Please set it on the table, Prudy, thank you,”

She shuffled over to the table and set it down next to the flowers. She executed another miserable curtsey and shuffled from the room. Demelza set her needlepoint down and walked over to the table to look at the letter. The handwriting was unfamiliar to her, but had a decidedly feminine slant. Her brow furrowed and she worried her bottom lip. Could it be from Elizabeth? Judas, she certainly hoped not. It had only been two weeks since Demelza’s wedding to Ross and she did not feel confident enough in her attachment to him to face his former, first love. She doubted she _ever_ would.

Demelza still remembered the look of cold distain that had passed between them the day after she and Ross had become intimate. How must Elizabeth feel, now that she knew the man she’d claimed to love so many years ago had chosen someone else to share his life and bear his children? The rational side of Demelza’s brain told her she should take comfort in the vows he had made to her, and she’d been able to do just that.

 _Most of the time but not today_ , she thought to herself. She shook herself. Short of opening the letter and attempting to puzzle through the writing, she would have to wait until Ross came home and hope he would share it with her. She took a deep breath and set the letter down near the flowers and went into the kitchen to finish the cherry tart for luncheon.

Ross arrived home for lunch around two in the afternoon. He was delighted with the tart, which he claimed he’d been able to smell from the yard. He’d leapt to his feet, hauled her off the bench and had given her a very thorough kiss as a thank you that had warmed Demelza to her core. It had almost made her forget about the letter. Almost.

She leaned down to pick it up off the table. “Ross? A letter came for you from Trenwith,” Demelza said, handing it to him and praying her voice sounded even and calm.

He took the letter from her and looked at the handwriting. A bright smile lit his face and she experienced a moment of dread the likes of which she’d never done before, even when her father threatened to remove her from Nampara mere months ago. “It’s from my cousin Verity,” he exclaimed as he slid his finger under the wax seal. Her relief was enough to make her sit down on the bench seat with a hard thump. She was grateful he was so engaged with the letter that he hadn’t noticed it. She toyed with some of the lavender from the flower arrangement while he opened the letter, reading aloud as he paced.

_My dear Ross,  
I am the last person to criticize your attachment but I would like to be the first to write to you to wish you joy. I am presently taken up with tending Father, but I hope soon to call upon you to wish you felicitations in person._

He stopped pacing. “There! We have at least one friend,” he said with only the slightest tinge of sarcasm colouring his voice. Demelza, who had been listening to the letter with a new dread forming in her stomach, rolled her eyes.

“I must go back to the mine for a few hours, but will be home for supper around seven o’clock.” Ross bent to press a kiss to Demelza’s temple. “We will discuss this more then.”

After he’d left, Demelza put the finishing touches on the stew for dinner and began to work the bread dough. She took advantage of the situation to vent her spleen about the coming invasion of their home by the gentry.

“Callin’?” _Slam._ “Who has time to call?” _Punch, pull-twist, punch._ “What do they mean by it, ‘callin’” _Slam, tug._ “I’ll call them…” She battered the dough with a vengeance and noticed Jud and Prudy sidling into the room, silent but peering at her through judgmental eyes. “Wot?” She stopped her work and planted her fists on the edge of the kneading bowl. “You been giving me squinty eye ever since we got back from church.”

Prudy approached her first. “’ow else are we supposed to look? We don’t rightly know ‘oo we lookin’ at!”

“One minute she’s Miss Skivilly Scullery Maid,” Jud hissed, the sneer on his face venomous. “The next she be Mistress High and Mighty!”

Enough was enough. She leaned onto the table and eyed both of them. “Do you not think it’s as strange to me as it is to you? Do ye imagine I ever looked for or expected it?” She glared at them, her temper rising. “Come to think of it, it’s more your fault than mine!”

They gawped at her. She would have found it funny if she hadn’t been so angry. “How be that, then?” Jud asked.

“Tis you that raised me up and taught me all I know. So,” she barked, brushing her hands on her apron and planting them on her hips, “if I’m fit for better than I’d hoped, blame yourselves for educating me!”

She stormed out of the kitchen and, despite the heat of the day, went for a very long walk with Garrick. By the time she returned, she found _herself_ gawping: the kitchen was spotless, the two loaves she’d been kneading resting on the hearth to rise. When Prudy entered the room she performed a perfect curtsey and asked if the mistress cared for some refreshment after her walk outside.

She was completely confused.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ross noticed two things when he returned home for the evening. First, that Demelza had been inordinately quiet throughout their supper and second, that Prudy had conducted her duties with near perfection. He sat at his desk in the library, a cheerful fire crackling in the hearth and brandy in his glass. He attributed the cleanliness of the room to Demelza, but the rest, she explained, had been Prudy’s making. He’d planned to speak with his wife about the fact he’d suspected she was still performing some of her former duties; he’d seen her at the laundry tub once too often. He was pleased to see that the two women had – apparently – reached an understanding about the way of things. Progress. Yet, as much as he enjoyed Demelza’s cooking, he’d noticed she spent most of her day at it. More than he’d ever realized before they were married. _Strange,_ he thought to himself, _how my observations of her have changed over the past few months._

He arched a look towards his wife, who was seated in a chair near the fire, her nose pressed into a book. Her eyes, however, were not scanning the pages but transfixed on the flames, unfocused and distracted.

He frowned. “Demelza?”

She started, her gaze leaping from the fire to his face. “Yes, S-s-Ross?” she said, her voice almost inaudible. The look of anxiety on her face was something he’d never seen before. Or, rather, he _had_ , but long ago; back to the second day she’d been at Nampara, when her father had come to take her away from him.

He rose from the desk and went to her, grasping her elbow and pulling her to her feet to stand in front of him. “Demelza, what on earth happened here today?” he queried. “It is clear that something has unnerved you and I would have it known to me.”

She looked up at him. Glimpses of the two sides of her mixed and melded in his mind, making him confused and unsettled. _Who was_ she _looking for_ him _to be in this moment,_ he wondered. _Husband? Friend? The protective master of days past?_ He touched her cheek with his right hand and she leaned into it and him, stepping close and wrapping her arms around his waist. His left hand mirrored his right, capturing her face between them and he kissed her.

She pressed against him, deepening the kiss. Her hands slid up his chest to slip around his neck, her fingers tangling in the hair near his nape. He moaned against her mouth, his tongue sliding in to tangle with hers, tasting the port she’d had after dinner and finding it intoxicating. His body responded to her nearness within seconds, his cock hard as iron, aching with need. His hands left her face, moving down her body to close around her waist, pulling her tight against him. His mouth slid to taste and nip at her neck.

“R-ross,” she whispered, “please.”

He required no further encouragement. He damned himself for not having thicker rugs in this room, somewhere soft where he could lie with her here and now. He scooped her up in his arms and strode from the room and up the stairs.

He kicked open the door to their bedchamber and crossed the room to their bed within seconds. He set her down on her feet and kissed her, hard, before stepping away to reach for the flint box. His fingers shook as he struck the flint once, twice, before it flared to life. By the time he’d lit the three candles in the candelabra next to his side of the bed Demelza had removed her dress, petticoats and shoes. She reached for his cravat, fingers adept in its removal by now. He reached behind her to find her laces, drawing her close as he loosened her stays, his fingers now expert in the task.

They busied themselves to their tasks, eyes fixed upon one another’s faces, their breath shaking and laboured with desire, their lips mere inches from one another. “Demelza,” he panted, “I would know what troubles you.”

“Later,” she whispered. Her hand slid the cravat from around his neck with an audible hiss of fabric against the fabric of his collar and she attacked the button under the hollow of his throat. She flicked it open and spread the collar of his shirt open to taste and bite his neck with her strong teeth. He groaned, his fingers closing convulsively around her waist before moving down to cup her buttocks through her shift to lift and hold her tight against his aching loins for a moment. He then spun her around to finish removing her stays then hauled the thin fabric of her shift up and over her head.

The flickering candlelight lit the fair skin of her back and buttocks in fiery gold. Ross’s hands reached around to cup her breasts, her nipples hardening at his touch. His hands massaged them roughly, and he growled with pleasure hearing her whimpers and moans of desire. His mouth tasted the skin at the nape before shifting up to sample the side of her neck as it arched with pleasure. His cock throbbed painfully within his breeches. He turned her around to face him and the look of need on her face made him moan in response. He kissed her, desperately, his pulse pounding in his ears. Her arms slipped around his neck, fingers running through his hair, her nails scraping against his scalp and making him tremble. He broke the kiss, stepping back far enough to shove the braces off his shoulders and drag his shirt over his head, the buttons at the wrists coming off the garment and landing somewhere in the room with two distinct pinging sounds.

She laughed at this and he found himself smiling in response. “That seems to happen quite frequently with us, my dear,” he said, mirth mixing with desire.

“I told you,” she murmured, her voice throaty with desire, “I don’t mind mending.” Her hands ran over the muscles of his chest before moving down to his breeches, her fingers sliding inside the waistband and making his lower stomach muscles jump. Her eyes gleamed in the candlelight. “Shall I help you with these, sir?”

He shuddered at the title, and found it near crippling with its eroticism. Siren and maid, all fusing, coming alive in the woman he held in his arms. He swallowed. “Yes,” he whispered airlessly in response.

“We need to tend to your boots first,” she murmured. She pressed him down onto the bed, and he sat, wincing in discomfort from the breeches. He was transfixed by the sight in front of him: Demelza, naked and glowing in the candlelight, kneeling before him and tugging at the boot on his left foot.

He laughed drily, despite the arousal that threatened to unman him at any second. “Demelza, my dear,” he said softly. She looked up at him, flushed with desire, a furrow on her brow. “Turn around and take my foot between your legs and lean over.” Confusion was defined on her face and he smiled. “Trust me.”

She turned around and drew his left foot up between her knees. “Now grip the foot tightly, Demelza.” He felt her hands close around the foot. He leaned back onto his elbows and raised his right foot and placed it on her right buttock.

She squeaked. “R-ross!”

He was near panting at the vision in front of him. “Trust me!” he said with a airless chuckle. “Now brace yourself and pull at the count of three. One…two…three!” He pushed with his right foot and the boot in her left hand came off with a sudden jerk. She squeaked with merriment and spun around to show him the boot. He laughed with her, then gasped as she fell upon him on the bed and pressed kisses all over his face. He captured her lips with his in a light kiss, which turned more heated as the moments ticked by. They became entangled on the bed in their embrace. Ross thrust his hips, pressing his aching flesh against her stocking clad thigh while she rode his own, making soft, mewling sounds, until he broke from their kiss. “Please, Demelza,” he groaned, “one more boot, please!”

She moaned and sighed but disentangled herself and rose to her feet once again. Within seconds the other boot and both stockings were off. She held out her hands, capturing his, and helped him to his feet.

Her fingers flicked the buttons at the waist loose before she bent to loosen the ties around his calves. He watched, mouth agape and panting, as she pressed kisses against the ridge his cock formed in the front of his breeches as she tended the ties. His hands came up to loosen the green scarf she’d worn, releasing her red-gold tresses to tumble around her head, his fingers combing through the strands while he moaned with pleasure at her attention.

She finished the laces then released the three buttons closing the drop front of his breeches, the fabric sliding down his legs. He dropped back onto the mattress and she pulled the breeches clear from his feet. He gripped her arms, dragging her up from her knees to join him on their bed, his hands roaming over her curves and valleys while their tongues tangled with one another. He broke their kiss, his mouth seeking and finding the sweetness of her nipples, the skin of her belly before moving to her womanhood. He held her hips still as he tasted her centre. Demelza cried out and shivered as he swirled his tongue around her bud, her fingers pulling on the thick, black strands that covered his head. He savoured her climax, relishing the sweetness of her release on his tongue before moving up her body, finally sheathing his aching cock inside her welcoming body.

“Ross,” she sighed at his entrance, slipping her long legs around his waist. “Fill me.”

He pressed forward, the remnants of her orgasm squeezing him tight as he slid home, his bollocks pressed tight against her. “Every time,” he gasped as he began his thrusts, “it is new, every time I am inside you, Demelza.” He captured her mouth with his, mimicking the motions from below until she pulled her mouth from his, gasping.

“Ross,” she panted, her stocking clad legs slipping around his waist, her foot sliding along the cleft of his buttocks, which made him tremble unexpectedly, and violently, with pleasure. “I love the taste of myself on your lips.”

He groaned, the rhythm of his thrusts becoming more intense. Her fingernails raked his shoulders before she plunged them into his hair, bringing his mouth to hers, teeth clicking against one another’s, her tongue tangling with his. She wrenched her mouth away, her breath now sobbing in his ear.

“Come with me,” she breathed, as the start of her climax began. Ross bared his teeth, sampling the skin between her neck and shoulder as her body gripped his in her passion, the wetness of her body bathing his as his thrusts grew in their intensity.

“’melza,” he groaned heavily. The familiar feathery tingle along his lower back signalled his end. He pressed a desperate kiss on her lips before he followed her into the black, his testicles squeezing tight against her, pouring his seed into her womb.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They lay unmoving for several moments. Demelza squeezed her legs against his hips and gently slid her hands up and down his damp back, feeling it rise and fall under her palms. She pressed kisses along his neck and shoulder, tasting his skin, the salt of his sweat and all that was Ross. The stubble along his cheek scratched the side of her neck as he began to shift his head from her shoulder. He lifted his head just enough to capture her lips with his in a gentle, languorous kiss before propping himself up on both elbows to stare down into her face.

She often found him looking at her with the same intensity his eyes held now: searching, puzzling. Sometimes the look was troubled, and that worried her, for she wondered if he was regretting his decision to bind himself to her for all eternity. Each day that passed made her wonder if it were possible to love him more, and each day she discovered the boundaries were endless.

Tonight, however, the look was searching, but with a tenderness that made her want to clutch at her heart. If he continued to look at her like this she would burst into tears.

She reached up to stroke his cheek, her finger tracing along the ridge of the scar that marked him. “R-ross,” she said with a hoarse sigh and smiled. Her voice was always a little hoarse after they’d made love like this.

He closed his eyes and lowered his head to kiss her once again, pressing his hips against hers. His body was softening, despite their desire to continue. She gave his hips a final squeeze with her legs – something he had told her he liked very much – and he slid from her warmth to lie by her side. He gathered her against him and she snuggled into his arms, slipping one of her legs between his.

They were silent, long enough for Demelza to think he’d fallen asleep. Her hand went to reach for one of the scraps of bath linen she kept under her pillow. The dampness between her legs after they’d made love always shocked her. After the first few nights of having to sleep in a damp spot she’d decided to keep the linens handy. Ross had arched an eyebrow at her when she’d started the practice. Tonight, however, his hand reached for it first.

She started, glancing up to see his eyes gleaming at hers in the candlelight. “May I attend to you, wife?” He smiled, kissed her nose, and reached down between her legs, gently towelling her inner thighs and womanhood.

 

She blushed crimson. “R-ross!” He kissed her again, lingering over the task of tending to her needs, before tossing the linen to the floor. “T-thank you, Ross,” she murmured when he’d finally let her up for air.

“Are you cold?” he asked, tucking her against his side, holding her close. “We didn’t have a chance to start the fire.”

Demelza giggled.

He squeezed her. “ _In the hearth_ , woman.”

“I’m fine, Ross,” she said, nestling into his arms.

“But you weren’t fine earlier, my dear,” he murmured. She felt him lean back to peer down at her. He nudged her chin up so her eyes met his, hazel-green and concerned. “Demelza, tell me what happened.”

She leaned back so that she could see his face more clearly. “Ross, the letter from Verity,” she said.

“What about it?” he asked, confused.

“She said she wished to call on us.”

He nodded. “It did indeed.” He narrowed his eyes. Her face had a wariness about it that seemed to arise whenever she encountered a situation she feared or doubted her own abilities. Partial realization beginning to dawn. “Are you wondering what that will entail?”

She nodded. He pursed his lips and slipped out of their embrace, sliding up to sit up propped against the pillows. He drew her up to lie beside him and picked up her hand. “It could be as simple as her coming by whilst riding, to take tea with us, for example. In this case, I expect it is to be considered more formal that that. In some cases it can involve an overnight stay or something even more extended than that.”

“Oh.”

She swallowed heavily and Ross noticed she’d paled, visible even in the dimness of the room. He rubbed his thumb across her hand. “I am very happy to have her as an ally for our marriage, my dear. I’d quite figured we would have no support from Trenwith, but this letter of encouragement has made me quite happy.”

She looked up at him and smiled tremulously. “I’m that glad for you, Ross,” she said softly. “And I don’t begrudge any support she may provide us.” She paused and bit her lip. He closed his eyes. “I’m worried more about what she’ll think of me, not being one of your sort and all.”

Ross blinked and gripped her hand convulsively. This was not what he’d been expecting. “My sort?”

“Not a member of your class, Ross!” she exclaimed. She would have risen from the bed if he hadn’t clasped her hand in his. “I won’t know what to do, or how to behave around her, and I’ll make you ashamed of me.”

He blinked several times once again and looked down at her before turning to face her, each lying on their sides. He stroked her hair, the crest of her breast before looking into her eyes. “Demelza, you’ve never been formally introduced to Verity, but she’s more than a cousin to me, my dear. We are about eighteen months apart in age and were always more like brother and sister.” He paused for a moment. “I believe the two of you will get along quite well, if you were to give it a chance.” He brushed a kiss on her lips. “You and I will be confronted with questions about our marriage for some time to come. Just remember what I told you, several years ago: your place is where I say it is.” He arched a brow and pinned her gaze in his. “You are mistress of Nampara, by rights of marriage and by what I say. Do you understand?”

She nodded then slipped closer to him to nestle against his chest, her stocking-clad leg slipping, once again, between his. “Thank you, Ross.”

Child. Friend. Siren. Wife. Lover.

Together. Apart.

Undone.


End file.
